Breathless
by HaloNoir
Summary: A raid goes south and two members of the BAU are injured - how does everyone cope and who will survive? Team-fic with  at the moment  only hints of pairings. Warning: character death!
1. Emily

**This is just going to be a short multi-chapter story to fulfil a cmpromptmeme. Team fic for now, but that could change…**

Blam.

Blam!

There was a thud and a groan. Then nothing.

Emily swung her flashlight and gun towards the gunshots and saw Morgan do the same. Whatever had just happened was on the other side of the house. Definitely inside the house, not muffled enough to be outside the walls where more officers were waiting. Who was covering that side? Was it Hotch and JJ? Rossi and the police chief? Her mind was blank. Reid was safe at least, back at the police station with a broken toe.

They waited a beat. Damn it. There was no noise, no reassuring crackle of the radio to tell them that the UNSUB was down. She looked towards Morgan, his face impassive as he inched towards the archway into the hall and she fell into step behind him, clearing a closet as they went, lights trailing along just in front of their feet.

There was a creak as they stepped into the carpeted hallway and Prentiss felt her heart jump into her throat, walking into the back of the solid wall of muscle in front of her. Derek cocked his head. There was another creak - from the top of the stairs, Emily thought.

Before she knew what was happening, she was flying backwards; on her ass, scrabbling for a better grip on her weapon, before she realised that it was Derek who'd knocked her back, before raising his gun at the dark figure charging at them from across the hall.

"FBI! Put your hands up!" He managed to get out, just before the figure was almost upon him and he raised his gun. He didn't get the chance to shoot; the gun flash from the top of the stairs cut the attacker short, about a metre from him.

Morgan kneeled to check the suddenly still man's pulse, and Emily found herself already on her feet, sweeping pass him, gun still in hand. She rushed pass Rossi who is running down the stairs, holstering his still hot sidearm. She walked through another archway, into what must have been the family living room and stopped short at the sight.

"Oh my God!"

Rossi was all business, calling the ambulance and summoning the back-up in, calling Morgan, telling him to ring Garcia, but she was stuck, the wind knocked out of her and she can hear her own voice, shrill and high, stuck on repeat.

"Oh my God!"


	2. Rossi

**Aren't I evil for leaving it on a cliff-hanger last time? A little more to go yet before all is clear, but here we go. Remember to feed the author with reviews – might make me hurry!**

Rossi could see their UNSUB charging across the hallway, from his vantage point at the top of the staircase: right at Morgan who wasted precious time knocking Emily back. There was no way the younger agent was going to get off a clean shot. He did manage to get out an order to stand down, ignored of course, but which let Rossi take the shot. And take it he did. It was as though the target hit a wall: he crumpled into a heap just in front of his would be target.

Rossi saw Emily running past and he moved to follow her, knees creaking with the speed. He left Morgan to check up on the UNSUB, but he needed to follow Emily, follow through to where the shots had come from. He didn't even make it into the room before he could taste the iron tang in the air. Shaking hands were dialling for the ambulance before he knew realised the phone was out of his pocket. Rossi could hear his own voice bellowing hoarsely, at the local police outside to help. He looked back into the hallway to see the blood drain out of Morgan's face, as he cuffed the unconscious man. He was surprised that he was still alive. His aim was getting poorer in his old age.

The blue and red lights of the cars outside were flickering against the walls of the sitting room; he wasn't sure when those had been switched on. It couldn't be the ambulance yet, surely. Prentiss was stuck in the entryway, thrown into silhouette by the ghastly light. Beyond her, he could just make out thin, dark streaks thrown haphazardly across the walls. An odd design choice, Rossi thought distantly.

The ambulance was on its way and he barged pass Emily, knocking her senses back into her. He wasn't sure where to start, but they couldn't just stand there.

The two figures were stretched out, right where they had fallen. He couldn't see their wounds yet. Aaron was on his back, his head turned to face JJ. He must have seen the gunman, but JJ had not and had fallen where he caught her, forwards with arms and legs splayed. Her head was twisted to the size, gaze locked onto her partner – the man whose hand she held. Rossi couldn't see either chest rise or fall.

Emily was finally moving and ran to her friend's side, looking for the damage and Rossi went to do the same. It was only once he was beside Aaron, that he realised they weren't silent: Hotch was talking to her quietly, ignoring everything else, in their own small world.

The pool of sticky red, seeping into the knee of Rossi's slacks, was even now still spreading out between them. Where was it coming from? Rossi felt himself becoming frantic – how could he fix this if he couldn't even find the source? His hands moved over his friend's vest, shoulders and neck were clear, downwards then. He found where the blood was coming from: just below the vest. It could be a pelvic injury: that could mean years of physiotherapy. No. Rossi shut these thoughts down. This wasn't helping.

"The ambulance is coming, Aaron. Just hang in there."

"Jayje!" Emily's sob, distracted his focus and he looked up to tell her to stay calm – this wasn't like her.

Rossi looked across to JJ and the world seemed to tilt, perhaps never to be righted.

That was where the blood was coming from.

Big blue eyes were open and surprisingly bright, they didn't move from her boss' gaze. Only inches away, a chunk of her neck was gone, where swanlike neck had met shoulder. Emily's long fingers were gripping uselessly to stem the tide.


	3. Garcia

"Resident genius and beauty queen extraordinaire speaking, speak now or-"

"Garcia!" Derek cut her off and she fell silent with shock: Derek never cut her off. Not like that. Hotch, Rossi and maybe JJ. But not Derek.

"What is it?" Her voice came out small and thin as she reached for one of the stuffed toys on her desktop. She was almost too afraid to ask. She could hear him breathing heavily on the line.

"It's Hotch and JJ. The UNSUB managed to sneak up on them…" His voice tailed off and Penelope wanted to shake him, what was happening? She found herself snapping at him.

"What is it? What's happening? Talk to me, Derek!"

"They're being taken to the hospital now," a hitch in his speaking, "but it doesn't look good."

"What? For who?" Her blood felt like ice.

"I don't know. Rossi and Prentiss are with them but there's a lot blood." Garcia wanted to smack him. She knew it wasn't his fault but didn't he know that she needed more than this?

There were voices in the background and Morgan was speaking to someone – Penelope strained to hear what was happening. The only word she heard, one of the last she wanted to hear, was 'critical'.

"Derek! What did he say? What's happening?"

"Baby girl," he was frustratingly slow, "I think you need to get on the next plane out here."

This was really happening. She made herself breathe, worried that she would forget. In. Out. In. Out. Was JJ doing this? Was Hotch? In. Out.

"Right. I'll do that." She told him before she disconnected the call. Disconcerted by her own calm, she pulled up the contact number for the airline, making this next flight was going to be a push, but she had to make it. Not making it was inconceivable. She swept her things into her bag and grabbed her faux-fur coat, oblivious to the tears running down her face.

The drive to the airport was both the fastest and slowest cab ride of her life. She couldn't stop thinking about JJ and Hotch and yet, couldn't process it at all. It was the mental equivalent of burning metal, she couldn't stop fretting over it, yet when she tried to get a grip on it, she couldn't help but recoil.

For the first time in her life, she used her FBI badge for favourable treatment, getting herself through security in less than five minutes so she could run for the gate with ten minutes to spare. She was grateful the team were only in Nashville. Nothing could happen in the time it would take her to get there, surely?

She settled into her seat, ignoring the looks from the businessman next to her, not caring about the state she was in. She leant her head back and closed her eyes and let herself dream that everything was going to be alright. They were due some good fortune. This would be a false alarm and they could go back to being shiny, happy, lucky people.

She ignored the seizing of her heart that told her that their luck had run out, and that there would be no happy ending, this time. She refused to think about little Henry, with his dad in DC. Nor Jack, who had already had such a hard little life. Or that sometimes, the world isn't fair, and that people you love just die.

**AN: Remeber: feeding the author will result in faster postings ;)**


	4. Morgan

**AN: Yeah, the last chapter was pretty evil, I know. Maybe this will make up for it: two chapters in twelve hours!**

Derek was in shock, in so many ways. He wasn't really processing what was happening to his team members. The news he'd gotten from one of the paramedics didn't sound good, but the words just seemed to bounce off of him. To top it all off, Penelope had just hung up on him. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. He was stuck. Just staring at his silent phone.

There was a shout from inside the house, and Derek stepped out of the way just in time to avoid being knocked down by the gurneys that rushed past. The activity spurred him into action again. Derek decided to take the speed with which the medics were moving to be a good sign. He was sure that it meant there was still hope. Why rush if they were DOA, right? He caught himself, mentally berating himself – he couldn't think of JJ and Hotch like that, in any world. He moved to open wider the door to the nearest ambulance and watched as they pushed Hotch in; the man looked like he was out cold, mask covering his usually stern features.

He went to do the same for JJ's, patting the paramedic closest to him on the back, shouting out some kind of vague praise. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was a man who excelled in _doing_ and felt useless when relying on other. The best he could do now was support and shout out "c'mon man!" The paramedic offered him the bench besides JJ and he jumped in without hesitation.

He saw Rossi and Prentiss staggering out of the house, both looking shattered. Derek was afraid for his fallen friends, but almost more so about his team: if JJ and Hotch didn't come back from this, he wasn't sure the team was going to hold it together. Rossi caught Morgan's eye, sending him the briefest of acknowledgements before he opened the door of Hotch's ambulance. The sirens switched on and the first one was away.

Morgan moved to shut the doors of his ambulance at the medic's say-so and came face to face with Prentiss, looking utterly lost. She moved as if to join him, but he blocked her. He thought the sight of her would haunt him for the rest of his life. Her eyes were dull, her hair mussed and her hands… her hands were nearly black with dried blood. Derek's stomach lurched as he made the obvious connection: JJ's blood.

"Get a ride with the sheriff, Emily," he told her, not trying to be cruel, but he was not going to let her in this ambulance – not if JJ could die en route, "call Reid and meet us at the hospital." He said it like an order, and she nodded so slightly that he wasn't even sure she'd registered him. Her mouth compressed into a thin, grim line and he took that as her reaction. He shut the doors on her as the siren began to blare.

He turned to JJ, what of her he could see: there was so much gauze on her neck that it almost hid her face. She was intubated and the medic was pumping an airbag into her – he knew that _was_ a good sign. She was so very white now. He was going to stop with the cracks about her tanning habits if they got through this. The medic said there was nothing for Derek to do, so he settled for holding her hand. Had it always been this small? This frail?

The ambulance started off and he looked back out of the window in time to see Prentiss' reserve crack, her distinctive shape bent at the waist, lowering herself to the ground. His heart broke for her. JJ needed to make it through this, not just for her and hers, but for Emily, Hotch, Reid, Rossi, Hotch and him.

"C'mon girl, you can do this, you're my Pennsylvania Petite – you're a fighter." He wanted to stroke her hair, but he couldn't bring his hands anywhere near her throat, so terrified that he might break her.

Derek didn't know how many times he chanted the same things to her before they were screeching to a halt in front of the hospital and there was a sudden cacophony of voices around them. It wasn't until the medic was leaning over the patient, telling him that it was alright, that he let go of JJ's hand. All at once, the medic and doctors and the little girl from East Allegheny were speeding away from him, and he was alone in the ER.

**AN: I just wanted to say thank you to my reviewers! You're what makes me keep writing! In other news, I need to decide which two characters I should select as being the focus of this story, for category purposes, any ideas? JJ and Hotch as they're the focus? Even if we haven't seen their POV's yet?**


	5. Hotch 1

He'd had a bad feeling about this one all day. Hotch suddenly missed Gideon with a fury. He missed having an equal that he could tell it how it was. He daren't tell Rossi, who would tell him that he was being pessimistic, would tell him to have faith. Morgan would look at him like he was crazy. Prentiss would be sympathetic but would worry about his mental state. Reid would probably tell him the actual statistics that this case was going to end badly. Garcia? He wasn't even going to try and predict what she would do. He felt JJ stand beside him as he stared at the board. Looking at her face, even in his peripheral vision, he knew she had a bad feeling too. He wasn't sure he could stand to hear it from her.

Less than an hour later they had the address of their suspect, Andrew Marcello, and the two little boys were still missing, presumed alive until otherwise proved. They strategized as they drove to the house in suburban Nashville, a small and pleasant cul-de-sac. There were already police officers parked at the top of the one way street, sirens and lights off, doing their best not to draw attention to themselves. The suspect's two-story house was nearly dead centre at the end of the street – a nightmare, tactically.

Hotch sought Morgan's advice. They agreed that they couldn't afford to storm the house and risk the Marcello shooting the, hopefully still alive, boys in an attempt to go down in a blaze of glory. They had profiled Marcello as a malignant narcissist, psychopath and sadist – his goal seemed simply to be to hurt as many people as possible. Children were his favoured target – their deaths hurt families and communities in a way that no others could. Yet, Hotch mused, he couldn't help but feel the profile was incomplete – if that was all there was to Marcello, then why was he keeping the boys for days before killing them? There were no signs of sexual abuse, but there was something that they were missing.

Announcing their arrival to Marcello would almost certainly result in the same outcome – Reid had told them before they left the station that he would rather commit suicide by cop than surrender. Hotch wished that Reid were here, so that he could run the scenarios by him one more time. Damn the young genius for being built like a racehorse – he was going to have to talk to Rossi about making sure he didn't try and make the younger agent do his dirty work anymore – Reid's bones seemed to snap like twigs.

Morgan suggested a soft entry, with two or three teams of two making their way into the house to secure the boys and take down the suspect – hopefully keeping the two apart until it was over. Hotch didn't like it. He knew it was their only realistic option, but he still didn't like it. He looked towards the house at the end of the street. The lights were off. Hotch checked his watch. It was 10:45pm. That struck him as odd. Sure, some people might be asleep at this time on a Wednesday night, but a serial killer who had devolved to the end of his game, potentially with two hostages?

It was decided that the five BAU members plus one of the sheriff's deputies, who had proven himself particularly competent, would enter the house. Hotch sent Morgan and Prentiss to the back of the house, knowing they worked well together in these situations. Rossi, JJ, the deputy and he made their way to the front of the house. Rossi and the deputy were to split off to the top floor, hopefully to find Marcello in bed. Hotch lightly grabbed JJ's wrist as they approached the house, "you're with me."

**AN: Sorry for the huuuge delay! I'm afraid real life intervened. The upside is that I've pretty much written the rest of the story now. I hope you're all still with me!**


	6. Hotch 2

Hotch wasn't sure why he was determined to keep JJ by his side. Perhaps he wanted to keep her safe, perhaps he wanted her to keep him safe – it was no secret that she was the best shot in the team.

Hotch, JJ, Rossi and the deputy slid along the wall of the house until they reached the front door, careful to duck beneath the windowsills. The deputy reached the door first and proved particularly efficient at picking the lock silently. The door swung open without a creak. Things were looking good so far. Hotch stepped into the carpeted hallway, gauging whether or not he needed to switch on his flashlight, gripped tightly beneath his gun. Not yet, he decided. The soft streetlights were casting enough of a glow through the front windows for now.

There was not a sound in the house and Hotch wondered suddenly if they might not have misjudged. Garcia hadn't found any other property registered to Marcello but God knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. Regardless, they were going to do this by the book. Hotch gave Rossi the go ahead to ascend the stairs. He caught JJ's eye and she nodded her readiness, blonde ponytail catching the streetlight. They started down the hall.

To the right of the stairs, Hotch could see the large kitchen and was relatively certain that that was where Prentiss and Morgan would come through. He led JJ over to the left. She moved ahead of him and got a hold of the door handle of the first door they came to. When he was in position she pulled it open as quickly and quietly as she could manage and he shone the flashlight in. What he had imagined would be a cupboard was in fact a tiny, incredibly well organised study. Shining his light into the corners, he ascertained the room was clear and stepped back, while JJ semi-closed the door again.

There was a corner before the hallway opened up and Hotch flattened himself against the wall, switching his torch back off. JJ followed his lead. He leaned around the corner, through the archway and saw a large, neat living room. The paint was neutral; the colour of the leather furniture matched the skirting boards. There was no one there so far as he could see. There was a piano against the far wall, behind which a man could crouch, that he knew he would have to clear, but there didn't appear to be any other entrance into the room. Hotch moved away from the wall, towards the piano, JJ sweeping behind him. He leaned to shine the light besides the piano.

"Clear." He murmured.

Then suddenly everything was moving at frightening speed. Almost before he heard the pop of the gun, he felt a warm splash hit the side of his neck. He pivoted, instincts kicking in, gun at chest level, saw JJ fall besides him. Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, he was stumbling backwards, down. Hotch couldn't understand what had happened. The man approached him and kicked the gun from his hand before he could react. The man sneered at him, leant down to rest the barrel of the gun against Hotch's chin, he got close enough for Hotch to make a positive ID – it was Marcello. Hotch stared the man in the eye. He wouldn't cower to someone who abducted and killed little children, who would shoot a woman in the back.

There was a whimper from besides him and it took all of Hotch's restraint not to turn to her. There was a creak from somewhere else in the house. Hotch couldn't understand how he'd heard it through the ringing in his ears. Marcello stood and quickly strode to the archway.

Hotch turned his head now to JJ, who he lay beside, her famous baby blues were wide eyed as she watched Marcello. Hotch wasn't sure where he'd been hit, all he knew was that he wasn't capable of standing up. He could just about move his arms though, and he made the now monumental effort to grab her hand.

"Look at me, JJ!"

Her eyes flickered to him, obediently. Hotch could see a pool of blood seeping out from below her chin, where was it coming from? He couldn't quite make it out. It had been only seconds since she'd been hit, and that was a worrying amount of blood – and, yet, she was still alive – so not the carotid or jugular? They had to hope.

Almost as though she could read his mind, see the direction his thoughts were taking, she squeezed his hand. He started talking. Ignored the man in the archway. Ignored the sounds of people creeping around the house. Ignored the growing pool of blood. Ignored the dampness he could feel under his own back. They could be no further help now. All that mattered was keeping the two of them awake.

"How's Henry these days, has he gotten bigger since we took him and Jack to see that Pixar film?" She blinked once at him, "He's going to be a tall one, that kid. I was thinking of taking Jack to the zoo soon, he seems to have developed a borderline obsession with kangaroos. I bet Henry would like to see the big cats." Her eyes were locked onto his, and he knew she was listening. She seemed to be blinking answers, but he wasn't sure if it was his own blood loss talking.

"I thought you guys might like to come with us. I know that Jack loves seeing Henry. I think it's nice for him to have someone about his age around, and of course, he loves seeing you" she squeezed his hand this time, "He's always loved you." There was no response from her this time, but her eyes seemed brighter somehow.

"Maybe one of these days you and I might even get to have that drink that we've been talking about for years. It might be nice to have some grown-up company outside of work." She squeezed his hand again and her eyes fluttered shut.

"No! Jayje. Focus," her eyes opened again, not so wide now, "I'm sorry that we haven't spoken more, lately. We used to be closer, didn't we? I know you've had a lot on your plate, and I didn't want to intrude, didn't want to seem as though I was pushing in. But God knows that I know what you're going through. I went through it all with Hayley. Will's an idiot, you know that right?" He could almost have sworn that there was a ghost of a smile of her face for the briefest of seconds, "He didn't deserve you. You're the best woman I know." Her face was pinched now, even as she tried to hide it. He kept talking to her. Kept talking about their sons and the things they could do as the weather began to warm up. Her eyes kept shining. He ignored that she never said a word.

He didn't hear the third gunshot of the night. It was only when Dave and Prentiss were over them, shouting and clutching at them, that his words began to fail. Darkness started to creep in around his vision. Finally, when the paramedics wrenched their hands apart as they were lifted from the ground, he let the darkness take him – big baby blues bright, even there.

**AN: I'm on a bit of a roll at the moment, and I'm trying to keep the momentum going. I have another 3-4 chapters written, but I'm still twiddling with the order/etc. I think there are probably actually about seven chapters left now, so I should probably modify the story description, as this isn't so short any more! I should also mention, in case it wasn't clear, that JJ and Will's marital problems got the better of them in this timeline!**

**Reviewers: lolyncut: **Reid has a really great chapter coming up later - I did feel really aware that I haven't written his yet, but his perfect scene doesn't fit in until later on - bear with me!** flacks girl: **apologies in advance for nightmares!** HotchRocks: **You'll have to wait and see! ;)


	7. Waiting

There was some kind of drab, near funereal, music coming from the television set that looked as though it had survived from the 1970s. Prentiss' heels were clacking noisily, even as she tried to shift her weight onto the balls of her feet. She should just sit down but all of her frustration seemed to have backed up into some kind of manic energy – sitting down made her feel nearly itchy with helplessness. She needed to do something to keep from thinking about her friends stretched out, still and cold beneath the scalpel. She could take off the boots, but they were lace-up nightmares and she didn't like the look of the floor in here. So she paced. Staying away from Derek at the other end of the waiting room, who looked as though he might thump her, when the clacking got too much.

Derek sat with his elbows on his knees, head resting on his hands, nearly slumped in half at the waist. He couldn't understand how Prentiss had so much energy. He felt like he might be ready to check himself in. All the adrenaline he had earlier, chasing JJ's gurney into the hospital, until he had been nearly tackled by the orderlies, is gone, leaving him feeling brittle and dry. He checked his phone every few minutes to see whether or not Garcia had landed. He didn't know how he was going to manage her when she got here. He didn't know how many more times she could take this sort of thing. How long any of them could.

A vision in purple and scarlet thundered into the lobby of the hospital and it took her hardly a minute to get to where she needed to be. She flashed her credentials for the fourth time that night (she could hardly keep track now, she vaguely recalled using it to disembark before the rest of the passengers and to push to the front of the line for cabs). It got her access to the private room that they'd shunted all the FBI agents into. All her momentum took her to the door, but no further. She saw the drawn faces of her friends and she was suddenly exhausted, overwhelmed by her own worst fears being reflected back at her. She wanted nothing more than to go home to bed and wake up tomorrow with nothing but the slipping grains of sand that were a bad dream. Rossi was the first to notice her, stood across from the door, leant against the wall. She didn't think he'd be the first to go to, but he saw her and opened his arms, and it seemed obvious to stumble into them, choking on the new torrent of tears.

Reid stirred for the first time in 47 minutes to note the new arrival. He felt some kind of twinge deep down. He wasn't entirely certain what it was. Sympathy? No. Not quite empathic enough. Sadness? That's there, but not entirely encompassing of the sentiment. No, he thought, this was more akin to rage. The quiet kind, borne of a sense of injustice, of things, the world, being wholly unfair. Hotch is his hero. He's all the things he'd ever wanted to be (minus the failed marriage): strong; passionate and commanding of respect. And Jayje… He could hardly bring himself to think of her. He'd heard the words "serious trauma" and "GSW to the neck" and knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be seeing the small town girl, former mean girl turned best friend, the only one who called him 'Spence' again. He went back to counting the ceiling tiles. One by one, this time.

Dave steered the colourful mess into the seat besides Morgan, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders and nodded at him in some kind of silent thanks. He looked around at the shattered remnants of his BAU. He leant back against the wall that faced the wall clock. They had been in surgery for just over an hour and a half now. It was nearly 1am now. He was tracing the buttons of his phone in his pocket. He had told the hospital to hold off on calling Jessica and Will respectively. There was no good in upsetting the children now, when there was no news. Let them have one last good night, he thought. He chastised himself, reciting a prayer internally, keep faith: let them have many good nights.

The door swung open at a little before 2am. A pretty nurse in grey scrubs and a clipboard entered, timidly. Her eyes scanned the pale faces, trying to seek out a leader in the group. The oldest stepped forwards and motioned for her to speak. She told them she had no news on her patient, Mr Hotchner, as of yet, and that she just needed some clarification on his emergency contacts. She saw the younger members switch off again, retreating to some faraway place. The older man took the clipboard as she explained that she wasn't certain who to call: the patient's first emergency contact's number was out of service. The man's face darkened.

"That was his wife. Ex-wife."

"Oh, well-"

"She died." The words came out kindly, but his face didn't seem to match it, too weary to muster up his usual charm.

She turned the pages until she found the secondary contact and showed it to him. What little colour was left in his face drained and he let the clipboard drop to the floor with a clatter as he sagged into the nearest seat.

"That's Jennifer Jareau – she's your other patient tonight."

The nurse knew she had fucked up. All she could do was apologise and watch the group huddle closer together, hope that they wouldn't complain to the administrators.

Rossi sat, stunned and a little saddened. Why was it that one of his best friends had a co-worker as his only remaining emergency contact – did he have so little to choose from in terms of other people? JJ and Hotch were close, anyone could see that, but he didn't think they were necessarily friends outside of work – were they somehow close enough that he trusted her to make medical decisions on his behalf, had he missed something?

"She's my emergency contact as well." Reid spoke for the first time in hours. Dave looked up at him, slightly confused.

"Mine too." Prentiss added sadly and Garcia put her hand up, as if to throw in her two cents.

"But why? Dave asked them, genuinely curious now.

"Because," Prentiss hesitated.

"-she takes care of us." Reid looked as though he might cry and the pieces finally slotted in for Rossi. Deliberately or not, JJ had taken up the role of mother figure in their team. She watched out for Reid, kept Morgan in line with a gentle hand – smiling at their antics all the while – she checked up on Prentiss and Garcia, making sure they were alright after the fallout of the numerous traumatic events of the last few years. She was the one who rallied everyone around Aaron and Jack after Hayley died, even drafted up a schedule to make sure that the two were never left alone for more than an hour in the days before her funeral. Hell, she was even the only one who could be relied on to turn up to everyone one of his own book events, dragging Henry along if she had to – always the first to her feet in applause. Rossi's eyes stung as he reflected on the enormity of what JJ contributed to the team – to all their lives.

It was nearly 3 am when the news came.

**Again, I hope you're all sticking with me! I enjoyed writing this chapter, being able to jump from character to character. I'm hoping that the dialogue sounded authentic too, but suggestions are always welcome! **

**I think there are actually five chapters left now, and they're about 80% written. Hopefully it will be finished before the end of the weekend. Please keep feeding the author, though! The more reviews I get, the more inclined I feel to write/edit/upload quickly.**


	8. Waking

The last thing he remembered, besides those big blue eyes shining at him, was the white light of the operating room as he sank under. It felt as though he had been asleep for days, when he woke: limbs thick and eyelids heavy. The glare of the light in the room made him feel sick and he gripped the sides of the bed to stabilise himself. It's only then that he realised that someone was talking to him. No one he knew, a nurse or doctor. He couldn't focus on what they were saying, couldn't they tell? The only idea that he could seem to keep in his head was 'JJ'. He tried to speak, to interrupt whatever inane drivel the woman was trying to tell him. The only word he could catch her saying was 'miracle' – he had a hard time associating that word with his situation.

There was no pain, not really. A slight ache somewhere below, but it was vague. Primarily there was just numbness. He wondered, fleetingly, if he might be paralysed, but he felt his toe twitch in response. He tried to interrupt again, his tongue gradually becoming more cooperative. Finally he managed to stutter out the word he was looking for. That woman stopped talking but didn't respond - he was grateful that speech was returning to him.

"Is she okay?"

"Ms Jareau suffered what's known as 'catastrophic injuries'," she hesitated; breaking eye contact with him, "she's out of surgery, and they've done what they can, but it's still…" the woman bit her lip and stared hard at the floor before she worked up the courage to lock eyes with him again, "she lost a huge amount of blood. There's every possibility that she won't make it." She was young, Aaron realised, younger than him, younger than Jayje, probably even younger than Reid.

"Are you allowed to tell me all of this?"

"It seems that you are her emergency contact, in addition to her being yours." The thought made him sad, for some reason.

"I need to see her."

"Not just yet," she told him, more firmly than he'd expected. In protest he began to pull himself into a sitting position, ignoring that the ache turned into a sharp stabbing pain. The brunette was on him, trying to push him back down, and calling for the orderlies.

"She's still with the doctors, Agent Hotchner! I promise, when you can see her, I will wheel you into her room myself," he stopped struggling and tried to gauge her sincerity, her grey eyes were earnest behind her red hair (some distant part of his brain said that she better watch out for David Rossi), "I promise." He believed her, and allowed her to rearrange the pillows behind him as the orderlies lurked in the doorway, probably armed with Haldol.

"Your team would like to see you, would that be alright?"

"I'd like to see them." She smiled and left the room.

He heard them coming before he saw them. Could hear the firm snap of Prentiss' heels against the linoleum, the tromp of Morgan's boots and the skittering of Garcia's pumps. He wondered how long he'd been out, how long he and JJ had been in surgery, if the analyst could have made it here. The noises stopped outside of the room and he could guess that they were trying to decide who should go in, how many at a time. He called them to come on in, he wasn't going to break.

Garcia's was the first face he saw. She grinned at him and it took him a moment longer than would have been usual to spot what a mess she was. He felt guilty for putting her through this. She was wrapping her arms about his shoulders and blocking his view of the others. He could smell that perfume which usually bothered him, but now was only comforting. Morgan was almost pulling her off of him and whilst he didn't want to hurt her feelings, he was aware of that throb below becoming more pronounced. He could tell it was at the top of his leg now.

Reid was the next one to charge him and Aaron made no complaint. He knew that Reid and Garcia were worried about him, looked up to him, but he also knew that they were waiting on JJ, and any solace he could give them, he would. Reid looked embarrassed as he started to break off, but Aaron reassured him with a pat on the shoulder and the closest thing to a smile he could muster. Dave and Morgan smiled at him reassuringly and Prentiss was sat in the chair to his right, trying to smile but failing. They all looked shattered – almost worst then he did, he reckoned.

"Has anyone had a chance to see JJ?" He asked, wanting to know if there was anything that he wasn't being told.

"No. We heard she's out of surgery, but that's it." Morgan answered for them. Hotch nodded, but didn't add that he was due to see her at the first opportunity, couldn't bring himself to tell them what he had been told. He couldn't tell if he was protecting them, or this was the most selfish thing he had ever done. He needed to see JJ and see her alone, for some inexplicable reason.

They tried to talk, to resume some sense of normalcy, but nothing sounded right. Hotch couldn't bring himself to participate in anything less than sombre in the conversation. He told them they should go back to the hotel – a suggestion that did not go down well. He was updated on the case: Marcello had taken a hit to the shoulder, had fractured his collarbone but would be fit to stand trial. The two boys had been found, battered but alive. They were already back with their parents. Hotch tried to tell himself that this made it worth it, but the idea of JJ stretched pale and wan on a hospital bed just a few doors away kept coming back to him.

The doctor came back into the room, oblivious of having caught Rossi's eye – he always had liked redheads. She caught Aaron's eye and his heart jumped. She was telling the team that he needed to rest, they had been tiring her patient out for more than an hour now. The protests were only light. They were tired, too and the conversation had dried up altogether. He tried to send them to the hotel again but was met with five steadfast refusals. The doctor suggested they might be able to find a few beds for them and he was grateful for her kindness. Prentiss ghosted a light kiss over his forehead, Morgan squeezed his foot as he passed and Dave settled for his usual pat on the shoulder. The small kindnesses were the ones that nearly overwhelmed Aaron.

The door clicked shut behind them and his doctor turned back to him.

"Do you still want to see her?" She asked him, looking as though she had hoped he had changed his mind.

"Yes."

"Okay, then we need to move quickly." She told him, and Aaron couldn't bear to ask why speed was of the essence.

** AN: Thanks for all of your feedback! I'm glad that everyone seems to be enjoying it, but I'm terrified of the fallout of what's going to be happening soon...! Cribellate:** Now I feel like Derek needs to punch something! **Thanks to all of my regular reviewers!**


	9. Vigil

It took them twenty minutes to get him into a wheelchair, Aaron bit his lip the entire time, knew if he showed one sign of weakness that he'd be back into that bed and sedated before he could argue. But then he was being wheeled across the hallway. As they approached the door, the doctor was trying to tell him what to expect, but his concentration was still all over the place, the only words he held onto were 'critical', 'hasn't regained consciousness' and 'you should talk to her'. There he was, being parked next to the bed of a still and quiet blonde girl, a sleeping beauty. But this couldn't be JJ? JJ, who was funny and vibrant, who never stopped moving and was so full of life, could it?

Her fair hair was fanned across the pillow and her features were peaceful. Blessedly, there was no mask or tube to obstruct her beauty. Aaron caught himself, not that he should ever be thinking of her like that – no matter that she was. Her chest was rising and falling in small degrees, silently - as though with too little effort. He thought he might have been reassured if her breath was rattling a little more, if she was showing some outward sign of battle. The only signs, besides her pallor, that there was anything wrong were the gauze wrapped thick around her neck and the IVs that hugged her arms.

Aaron heard the door shut behind the medical staff and he was alone with her. He was suddenly struck by self-doubt, and the room began to swirl. What was he doing out of bed mere hours after being shot, major surgery? Why had they left them alone? But he caught sight of that pale face again and his composure returned. He managed to edge the wheelchair a little closer to her, so he could grasp her hand, touch that golden hair. He laid his hand on top of her head and wondered at how young she really was: fourteen years his junior.

"I'm sorry, JJ." He wasn't even aware that he'd said the words for a moment, blamed it on the drugs. But he knew it was true: he was going to carry the guilt of not properly clearing that room for the rest of his life – he should have known the suspect was there, should have been able to protect her. He stroked her hair, absently, as he wondered what to do, what to say now. He resorted to what he had been doing before and talked of their sons, about how he was going to make sure the four of them spent more time together. He tried to express, whilst remaining his usual stoic self, how much she meant to him, and failed.

The image that kept coming back to him, haunting him, flickered in his mind's eye once more, and he knew what to tell her. He leant forwards against the bed, resting his head as he felt weariness start to take him.

"I remember a few days after Hayley died, you were staying at the apartment. You were incredible. You came up with some sort of roster to make sure that Jack and I were never left alone. You had Dave coming over with lasagnes, Garcia with cake and everyone just there to keep me company, or to play with Jacky..."

The lights were bright. She wanted to open her eyes, but she let herself adjust. She could hear a steady, slow beeping, was that her own heart? Then the sound of someone speaking washed over her, whoever it was held her hand in theirs and the words were soothing. She managed to open one eye for a moment, before tears came forth. It was enough to see the shock of black hair against white sheets and she knew who it belonged to immediately.

What am I doing here? She wondered. She couldn't remember. She wasn't sure that she could move and the thought terrified her. She wanted to try, to test the theory but she was too afraid to, too afraid that she wouldn't be able. She felt a tear slip away, down her face. The light didn't seem to be getting any less bright, but she supposed it didn't hurt so much now. JJ could make out what he was saying now. She listened as she tried to adjust to wakefulness, strangely unwilling to let him know she was listening: this conversation sounded strangely private, though he was obviously speaking to her.

"...But there was one night, I think the day of the funeral? I managed to find the scotch, once Jack was asleep and in between your shifts. I was a mess. You managed to sober me up when you got there, got me into bed and stayed there all night, holding my hand and listening to the ramblings of a mad man," Aaron traced her fingers with his thumb, "I remember worrying about waking up and finding you in my bed in the morning. I was afraid I would think you were her. Or worst, that I wouldn't, and it would seem disloyal somehow. I was even more afraid of waking up without you, though. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the sun coming through your hair. You woke up and smiled at me and I thought you looked like the closest thing to an angel I'd ever seen." His admission shocked him, and he felt vaguely embarrassed by the sentimental language. There were no more words now and he felt himself drifting off.

JJ felt Hotch's grip tighten on hers, as if mirroring the lump in her throat, before she felt his weight shift beside her and his breathing even out. Time seemed to be moving too fast. Her neck was throbbing now. It was as though some pain medicine or adrenaline were wearing off and all the feeling was coming back to her, bit by bit. She wasn't sure that was a good thing. She tried to distract herself by casting her memory back. She remembered that they were in Tennessee. That was a start. The case had to do with missing children. It was a bad one. An image came back to her, of her and Hotch standing in front of the board at the police station. Two kids were still missing. Hotch's face was grim and she was pretty sure hers was too. It was definitely a bad one.

They had gone to the UNSUB's house. That much she knew, or guessed at least. But the fog was holding fast over that last period, completely impenetrable. JJ made a noise of frustration and felt the man sitting beside her stir. Maybe it was time for answers.

Her free hand automatically moved to brush down the tufts of hair she knew would be sticking up. She let out a sigh of relief at the action: she could move her arms at least. Not paralysed, then. She cracked her eyes open again. Who the hell decided to make hospital lights this bright? She squeezed Hotch's hand and he lifted his head at her, all bleary eyed. He looked confused for a moment, before his eyes cleared and he tried to rise in his seat before falling back down. She tried to smile him with dry lips: "Hey there."

**AN: Before everyone gets their hopes up, I urge you to reread the story summary! SW1984: **please don't get sacked!** Thank you to all my lovely reviewers - I hope you still like me when I'm done with this story!**


	10. Ebb

"JJ!" He was gasping at her and she wasn't sure that she'd ever seen him like this, so animated. "Oh, thank God!"

"Hey there," JJ repeated, surprised at how throaty she sounded, "what's happening?" she asked him, even as she worried that he might faint from apparent excitement.

"I should call the doctors in."

"Don't," JJ surprised herself by catching his wrist, "Just stay with me?"

Hotch looked unsure but nodded. She took in his features. His face was gaunter than ever, if such a thing was possible. It made the black of his hair even more noticeable. Despite being in a wheelchair, she could see no outward sign of injury, though his movements were stiff.

"What happened?" She asked him, knowing that he'd give her the whole story straight, something that everyone else might duck and dodge.

"What do you remember?"

"That we're in Nashville. That we found the UNSUB's house. That he had two little boys hostage."

"Andrew Marcello, that's the UNSUB. Five of us went to his house – Reid was confined to the station after he tripped in that ditch yesterday," JJ couldn't suppress a small smile, "Prentiss and Morgan took the back entrance whilst you, I and Dave took the front with one of the locals. You and I took the downstairs."

"He managed to surprise us both?" JJ was confused. She was the best shot on the team and Hotch the most cautious, how had this happened to them?

"Yes." Hotch wasn't making eye contact with her.

"How?"

"I must not have cleared the room properly," he turned her hand over in his large ones and she was struck by the boyishness of his guilt, "I'm sorry, I let you down."

JJ thought for a moment, before responding: "Bullshit." His face was comical – eyebrows jumping to somewhere near his hairline.

"I refuse to believe you did anything less than your best. I know you've always got my back, even if you don't."

"Thank you." Hotch smiled at her, clearly not convinced but almost bashful.

"You have nothing to apologise for. Where is everyone?"

"I think they're asleep in the waiting room."

"Seriously?"

"Of course. Did you think they'd obey my order to go and get some rest? Garcia's here, which should say it all. I should go and get them, I know they want to see you."

"In a minute. Let them get some rest." She held onto him again, and both were forced to acknowledge that neither wanted to share the other with the rest of the team, not just yet.

"What happened to the boys?"

"Apparently they're fine. Marcello's in custody now."

"Good." JJ shifted against the pillows, trying to prop herself up. Her breathing felt a little tight.

"How are you feeling?" Hotch asked her, concern written all over his face.

"As good as can be expected, I suppose. How about you?"

"I'm fine. The bullet just clipped me at the top of the leg, blood loss more than anything."

"Good."

JJ was aware that her throat was beginning to hurt, properly now. She needed more drugs. But she wasn't willing to send Hotch away just yet. She needed to get all of the things she had been keeping to herself off of her chest. The older man beside her was watching her with the upmost care.

"You know I love you guys, right? We don't say these sort of things often enough." Her voice was a little quieter now, even as she tried to inject her usual conviction into her words.

"I know, Jayje."

She hardly hesitated before she plunged on, knowing he'd put up a fight, "I love you, too."

"Don't. Don't," his voice was sharper than she knew he wanted it to be, but she didn't let it get to her, she was seeing things so clearly now, "You're going to be fine."

"I need to say these things, Aaron, even if you can't. Just in case I-" she caught herself, "Just in case." Hotch's shoulders were rigid and his gaze was locked onto the railing of the gurney. But he didn't try to interrupt again, so she took it as a sign to continue.

"If anything happens to me, or should ever happen to me, I need to know that you guys are going to stick together, okay? I want you to make sure that you and Jack and everyone are a part of Henry's life. If I can't be there for him," there was a lump in her throat now that she almost hoped was injury related, "then I want him to know me through you. I want him to think of me like Jack thinks of you." The lump won out and she couldn't suppress the gargled sob. She turned her head to the side, trying to breathe. Aaron was holding her hands in his again and that almost made it worse. Her chest hurt from it all.

"I promise, Jayje," he was wiping away the tears she hadn't even realised were flooding out again, "I promise that I will look after everyone, including Henry. Including you."

JJ managed a watery smile for him, "My hero."

That got a small smile from him and that cheered her up to no end.

"Just settle down now. Everything will be alright."

"You promise?"

"I promise." She nodded before she sinking down again, letting the exhaustion win out. She could still feel his presence beside her, his hand occasionally brushing over her hair and she felt at peace even though that pain in her chest was a little sharper now. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was Hotch or the knowledge that her odd, little rag-tag family were just down the hall, safe and near.

She thought of Henry, safe at his Dad's house and of how much she loved him, how much she missed him, but grateful that he had such a great father – she had done one thing right, at least. She thought of Pen and Emily, who'd filled a hole in her life vacant since her sister's death. And if they were her sisters, then Derek and Spence were undoubtedly her brothers, with their ridiculous antics, showboating and genuine affection. Dave was her friend, the uncle she'd never had, supportive and generous, with that mischievous twinkle that could never be dampened. And Hotch, Hotch was her rock. She and Hotch were a mess of 'what-might-have-beens' but that didn't stop them from loving each other in their own weird way.

Unbidden, a memory of a summer many years ago came to mind. The sun was warm and the grass brittle. She was laughing on the banks of the Allegheny, feeling the sucking of the water over her toes as the water level slowly dropped. Her friends, voices indistinguishable in the afternoon haze and crickets starting their evening song, were lolling besides her. The joyfulness of the scene made JJ think it was after she had heard about her scholarship, had been able to relish those small town days, knowing that they were coming to an end.

She wanted to tell Hotch about the memory, but wasn't sure he'd like the tone, what it seemed to suggest. The only thing that was anchoring her down was his hands. She wished she could show him the scene. Wished he could have seen more of her like that. The image cleared, and instead of the vacuous high school friends who had all drifted away from her with each baby and husband, there was her team, smiling and laughing and drinking beers, as though on one of their rare summer picnics. She saw herself beaming at her son, being swung about by the man who was sitting beside her.

The grip of his hands faded. JJ couldn't hear the shrill ascending beeps.

She felt her life ebbing out like the tide.


	11. Yours

Reid's long fingers danced over the leather of his bag that rested on his hip. It was some kind of expression of nervous energy, it seemed. What he had to be nervous about now, he wasn't sure. The worst that could happen _had_ happened – he had read that there was supposed to be some kind of relief, some sense of liberation to accompany such an event, but it had been two days of nothing but emptiness, bitterness and tears.

The usual 'ding' of the elevator did nothing to reassure Spencer, as it usually did. Usually that noise meant he was home, in the place where he worked with the people he loved, doing what he could to change the world. Now this place was soulless. He stepped out into the lobby and walked through into the bullpen on autopilot. The place was empty, which was both completely right and profoundly shocking. Strauss had granted the entire team plus the support staff bereavement leave. It seemed Strauss had to come through once every so often. He supposed that Sam's team was taking care of business, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Spencer dropped the leather satchel onto his desk with a thud, not taking the care that he normally would have to meticulously unpack the contents. There was no work for him to do here. He wasn't at all sure why he had come. He knew, though, that he couldn't stay at home alone. Neither could he face going to Garcia's, where a number of his friends were. There was only so much more of their suffering that he could withstand.

Penelope and Emily were shattered. The two of them had been holed up together, reminiscing over good times and a tissue box, occasionally joining forces with Rossi to cook for Will and Henry. They hadn't been entirely clear on the protocol with regards to whom received condolences in the form of their baked goods, considering that Will and JJ had been about to finalise their divorce. But they could only think of Henry, so Will ate well.

Derek and Spencer had tried to help out by taking Henry out, to give Will time to cope, but they could see too much of their fallen friend in him, in his blonde hair and wide smile and his lack of comprehension was heart-breaking for the both of them.

As for Hotch, he knew he had been to see Henry and Will too, but Spencer hadn't spoken to him since the hospital. He felt such inordinate rage towards his superior that he knew wasn't logical, but was strangely insurmountable, right now. Hotch had gotten to see her, gotten to hold her and say goodbye, one last time. No one else had gotten to. Spence, as he would be known _nevermore_, had not. He would never again see, touch or laugh with his Jayje again.

His friend who looked after him, who loved him and who trusted him enough to make him godfather to her son. There was a snap and Spencer realised he had broken the pen he was holding in two. Surprised by his own strength, he pushed off from the desk and walked back towards the doors, he considered setting up the coffee machine. He was hit by a memory of JJ wrestling with the coffee filter no more than a week ago and he wasn't sure he'd ever drink the foul coffee from that machine again.

Spencer wrenched open the doors, replaced the time that JJ had downed a man from twenty paces, through a half inch of glass. There seemed to be nothing here that she hadn't imprinted herself on. He stood, aimless in the hallway. He couldn't leave, somehow. The he realised why he had come. He walked the twenty feet down the corridor, took a left and was outside of her door. Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau. She had kept the office somehow, even though she had a desk assigned to her in the bullpen, it must have fallen through the administrative cracks, Reid mused.

The door opened: a testament to her constant forgetfulness when it came to locking up. Stepping into the room, it was clear to Spencer that no one had been in here since she left that Friday. The air still smelt of her perfume, something with jasmine and roses. His sharp eyes picked up the fine layer of dust that had already pervaded the room, as though it knew that its owner would not return. Spencer shook such thoughts from his head, banished the Poe and other dramatics from mind.

There were picture frames all around the room, on every available surface. A few held her degrees, from Pittsburgh, Georgetown and the certificate from the Academy. Then there were the team photos. A couple were official ones, mandated from above for publicity purposes. Then there were the casual ones. There was one in a Chinese restaurant with them all grinning, embarrassed, at the waiter who was holding the camera. Reid could see a pair of chopsticks with a hairband wrapped around the top in his hand – another one of JJ's attempts to educate him. Her head was resting slightly on his shoulder, her arm thrown around Emily who sat on her other side. How was it that the girl from small town America could have been worldlier than he was?

The other was a photo of them at a barbecue in Rossi's yard. This one was a little more haphazard. He remembered that Garcia was determined to get the camera to work on a self-timer and none of the photos had turned out quite right JJ and Hotch are front and centre with their sons, none of the four looking at the camera. Hotch appeared to be laughing as he either set down or picked up Henry and JJ was trying to wipe Jack's mouth of ice cream, most of it on the older boy's shirt. The rest of the team were looking at the camera, nearly falling over each other as they linked arms, circling the near family unit – Rossi looked vaguely put upon. Never such innocence again.

Spencer moved to sit down across from her chair, but that seemed too painful somehow, like some strange mockery. So he sat down in her chair, but even that felt like a violation. When he settled his bones into the seat that had moulded to her shape, there was another rush of perfume and he could almost believe that she was going to come through that door, raise an eyebrow at him and ask him what the hell he was doing in her seat.

Spencer's eye dropped from the darkened computer screen to the framed photo beside it. It was JJ, cradling her infant son, eyes bright and cheeks dimpled. It was then that Spencer finally let the pain and fear wash over him, grateful for this last favour from his beloved friend, thankful for the walls that she had lent him.

**AN: So, are you going to kill me? I couldn't face leaving one of my usual ANs yesterday, as I felt quite raw after posting it! To make it up to you, if enough people request, I will write a happy alternate ending when this is over, but right now my focus is seeing this through - we're almost there. The next chapter is written, the penultimate chapter is not and the final one is almost done. **

**In other news, my first flamer! I admit, there are a few mistakes I've made in writing this story, but I'm not going to apologise. This is done for my own entertainment, not for official publication. Also: I'm British, if you couldn't tell by my spellings! So 'leant' is a real word for me! Rant over.**


	12. Goodbye

Emily was wringing the worn tissue between her hands, gaze locked onto a knot in the wood of the pew in front of her. She was trying not to listen to the lilting Irish voice that was sounding from behind the pulpit, or the gurgling sobs of Garcia, sitting two down from her. Rossi was sitting between Emily and the aisle, between her and freedom. As though he knew she might bolt, he took one of her hands in his, stopped her fidgeting. She was both annoyed and grateful – feelings nearly lost in the tumult of emotions swirling around in her head right now, in her heart. She could feel Derek's strong bulk on her other side, sat rigid even as he rubbed the back of her hysterical friend.

In front of Emily was JJ's mother. Her greying blonde hair was neatly lacquered in place, and her features were hard where JJ's had been soft, but there was a striking similarity. She was still in her seat, her husband beside her. Emily had never met JJ's parents before now – she knew JJ had loved them to pieces, but she gathered that they hadn't understood their last daughter's desire to go head to head with the worst criminals in the country. Emily couldn't even blame them, even if it hadn't ended like this.

Next to the parents, was Will and Henry, beyond that there was Hotch, Jack and Reid. The two little boys looked so very small, little blonde heads only just visible over the wood. The tears began to bubble up and Emily bit her lip hard, tilting her head back to try and stop the torrent. She knew that if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. She had to turn her head away from JJ's little boy, who sat holding an action figure of Captain America at his mother's funeral: too young to realise the significance of this stuffy affair. Before she knew it, the priest was calling her up to speak.

Her usual heels clacked against the stone floor of the church on the short walk to the pulpit. The priest smiled at her reassuringly (though Emily would never again trust men of faith). Her hands gripped the sides of the wooden podium as she tried to focus on the speech that was laid out in front of her. Her vision was watery and the words were swimming.

"JJ. JJ was," her voice was catching already – how was she ever going to make it through this, she wondered as she fought the losing battle against the hysterics that were rising up inside of her. She looked up, looking for a friendly face and was drawn to her partner's. Derek nodded at her, mouthed something she couldn't make out. Emily drew in a shuddering breath before she carried on.

"JJ was my best friend. She was vivacious and bright and lovely. Even if I live to be a hundred, I won't meet anyone quite like her. She was the first person at the Bureau to really reach out to me. Dragged me out for dinners and drinks, made me get to know everyone even when I would rather have been at home with a bottle of wine and a cat," there was a small chuckle from those who knew her, "She changed my life and I am a better person for having known her."

Derek watched Emily speak. He was proud of her. He wasn't sure that he could get up there and talk in front of all these people – not in the state he was in. He might not have been showing it outwardly, like Baby Girl, but he was a mess on the inside. He hadn't opened his mouth once since they had stepped inside the church; he was terrified that he wouldn't be able to control himself if he did. He tried to focus on the hymn boards on the sides of the church, or the stained glass windows, but his gaze unfailingly fell on the six foot box behind the altar. His mind failed to comprehend that his friend was in there. He knew, logically, she had been just 5 foot 6 inches, but how could someone who had been so full of life be in a box so small? He knew he would have to get up soon, with Rossi, Hotch, Will, Reid and Prentiss to carry her body to its final resting place, but the thought was nearly causing him to panic. So he distracted himself by rubbing Penelope's back and doling out tissues, trying not to think more than a minute ahead.

Dave stood to let Emily back pass him, he ignored her gestured suggestion that he move down. She had done well to give that speech up there, but he wasn't entirely convinced that she might not still run. Emily was an exceptional woman, but patience and formal occasions were not one of her strengths. The priest was talking again now, inviting them all to sing. Dave flipped to the appropriate page in the hymn book and let out a groan, 'Amazing Grace', if they weren't already falling to pieces, they would now. He held the book up between himself and Emily, underlining where they were in the song, doing his best to help her. At the end of the first chorus, Dave could feel himself misting up, and by the time that they reached '_the Lord has promised good to me, His Word my hope secures, He will my Shield and Portion be, As long as life endures_.' Emily had lost it, slumped on the seat, head held in hands, as Garcia reached across Derek to try and console her.

It was a testament to Jennifer that she had this effect on people, that she had packed the church above capacity. There were people lining the sides of the room. It looked as though half of the Bureau was here. He recognised a few familiar faces amongst the crowd, faces of parents and victims. They had had to specify in the funeral notice that donations should be made to a charity in JJ's name, rather than flowers: the office had been overwhelmed when the story had hit the papers.

He couldn't believe that it was only a week ago since he had seen her, worked with her on that wretched case. Long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder as she pored over records with him. He hated pulling the administrative work on these cases, but it was always made a little more bearable with her and her acerbic commentary. She never saw herself as one of the funny ones of the group, so she tended to keep her wit under wraps a lot of the time, but every so often she would let some observation slip out that would cause the entire plane to crack up. He was going to miss that. Damn it, he was just going to miss her. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life scanning the crowds at his book readings for her, and if not her, then someone like her. But there would never be anyone quite like Jennifer Jareau – Emily had gotten that right.

Penelope dropped what felt like the twentieth tissue onto the ground by her feet. She knew it was gross and reprehensible, to litter in a church, of all places, but she had to do something with them. She had to keep them out of sight, so she could convince herself that this tissue would be the last. Where her hero was getting these things from, she wasn't sure. She was just glad that he was better prepared than Kevin who had obviously been freaked out about the amount of tears and snot that could come out of one person – hadn't the last week been some kind of indicator? She was grateful for him being here, though, he kept his hand on her knee whilst Derek patted her. She really was grateful.

That God awful hymn was done now, and they all were allowed to sit down – though Em had given up minutes before, poor girl. She was so proud that Em had managed to get through that speech without cracking – she couldn't have done it, obviously.

The boss-man was up now, he stood, disentangling himself from Jack and patting Henry's shoulder as he went – the boy looking up to smile only briefly before he turned his attention back to the toy that she had given him yesterday. She and Reid had been spoiling Henry rotten, she knew JJ would disapprove, but that somehow only made her want to do it more. She had Iron Man waiting for him in her bag and she was suddenly seized by the need to give it to him now. The only thing that stopped her was Hotch clearing his throat into the microphone. He glanced at her, just for a second and she swore he was a damn mind reader.

"I would like to begin by reading a poem, if you wouldn't mind obliging me. It goes: _Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow…_"

This was always going to be the worst one, she realised, as Hotch began. There had always been something about Jayje and Hotch, some kind of unrealised potential. She knew they had been friends, but Penelope had always hoped that something else might happen, particularly once JJ and Will had called things off.

She had made a complete fool out of herself when she'd first started working at the BAU because of those two. JJ had been the one to conduct the first interview. They had hit it off immediately; Garcia was charmed by the blonde Pennsylvanian who seemed to bridge all cliques. Jayje had gone on to recommend Garcia to Hotch who had carried out the final interview, while the blonde sat in. It had gone well; she knew JJ had prepped him as he was (almost) unfazed by her, despite her entirely pink ensemble.

Penelope had waited in the hallway while the two had a discussion in the meeting room. Penelope had spied on them through the glass, wondering at this enchanting pair. The way they had communicated, something about their body language and soft smiles had sent Penelope on a tilt-awhirl and when JJ told her she had the job and walked her out of the building, she had gushed out about how cute a couple she and Agent Hotchner made. JJ had gone red as beetroot and stammered out that the two were not dating – such a thing was not allowed in the FBI– and that they were just friends. She'd never really believed there were no feelings there, and she had teased Jayje about it their entire friendship – had joked about it on their last night out, just a few weeks before she died. Died. Dead. How could that word be used to describe her friend?

"_When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush, Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die._"

Hotch was swallowing hard now, and used the side of his hand to iron out creases in the notepaper that Penelope knew were not there. His gaze remained locked onto the podium. She held out her hand to Derek who passed her another tissue.

"There's not much that I can say that hasn't already been said by everyone else today. JJ was the best woman I ever knew. She was the heart and soul of our team, and we will always miss her. She told me, not long before she died, that it is okay to say that we love each other, that we should, in fact, say it more often. That was who she was." Penelope heard sobs and realised that they were Emily's rather than her own, but it wasn't long before she was joining in, "And we will always love her. _I_ will always love her."

**AN: Eeek! My longest chapter so far! I swear I'm nearly done now. Just two more to go, and then the happy-ever-after ending which I promised you as so not to send you all spiralling into depression. I wanted to say thank you for all the lovely comments and constructive feedback. I'm sorry if I've bummed you out with this story, but I'm weirdly invested in it now. I think this has become less about me killing JJ than it has been about assessing her place in the team and examining the team dynamics. **


	13. Unsettled

Derek sat at the conference room table, turning over a pen in his hands as he waited for everyone to turn up. It was their first case since being back; briefing was set to begin at 10am sharp. Hotch had gotten the case late the night before. It was 10:15 now and he, Garcia and Reid were the only ones there. It was yet another bitter reminder of their missing member. She and Hotch were the ones who ran on clockwork, though JJ usually had about five minutes on her boss, using them to round everyone up, chivvying them along with caffeine and general encouragement until they made it to their seats.

Derek hadn't seen Hotch or Prentiss this morning. He had seen Hotch's car in the parking lot, but he didn't even know if she had made it in yet. To say that the team was operating at half capacity was an understatement. On Monday, Reid hadn't even bothered to turn up. Derek turned his attention to the younger man sitting at the table. He looked even bonier than usual, dark circles under his eyes. Derek wondered who he could run to for comfort, now that JJ was gone. Derek made a mental note to get him out soon. Maybe they could have a boys' trip to Atlantic City, he could let the kid whip his ass on the gaming floor.

As for Garcia, she was functioning better than Derek had expected she would. She was definitely overcompensating, though, chipper to the point of annoyance. Her lipstick and clothes were brighter than ever. It was only when Derek caught her alone that he could tell just how deep her sorrow went. He had walked into her office this morning, armed with their traditional Starbucks, to find her staring at a blank computer screen. She was holding a bright blue plastic photo frame to her breast, tears quietly trickling down her face. He knew which photo that was. It was one of JJ holding Henry, hours after he had been born, Garcia sat on the edge of the gurney – the two of them beaming dementedly at the camera. He had taken that photo. The moment was such a private one that he couldn't endure interrupting her. He came back five minutes later, knocked on the door to find her all smiles and colours, even if the smiles were more closed mouthed than they used to be, and the eye shadow a little faded.

Rossi was about the only one that Derek wasn't losing sleep over. He knew that Rossi had loved JJ, had come to rely on her to pass the tedium of the newer elements of his job. But Rossi had known loss before and Derek had the impression that he kept his guard up with everyone for exactly this reason. Despite the fact that he had been on the team for six or seven years now, no one _really_ knew David Rossi, except possibly Hotchner.

With that thought, Derek threw another glance to the clock: 10:19. This was getting out of hand now. Just as Derek thought about storming out to find the two rogue agents, the door swung open and Hotch was holding the door open for Prentiss, who had her folders clutched to her chest. Hotch followed in with a slight limp that he hadn't shaken in three weeks. There was something not quite right about their body language but Derek didn't have time to analyse it before Hotch was apologising for the delay and telling Garcia to start the briefing.

Three young, blonde women had been brutalised and choked to death in northern Virginia. It didn't take them long to work out that the woman was a surrogate for someone in the UNSUB's life, most likely a girlfriend or sister. The ages of the women were too young to suggest a wife, they thought, and the lack of control suggested immaturity rather than rage. Derek didn't want to jinx it, but this felt like an easy one – famous last words for sure.

When the speculation dried up, they turned to Hotch to close the meeting, all pretty much on their feet, but the senior agent held up his hand.

"Hold up. I have an announcement to make," Hotch licked his lower lip and Derek's profiling went into overdrive, "This is going to be my last case working for the BAU." You could have heard a pin drop in the aftermath. Garcia's mouth had dropped open, Reid's eyebrows were knitted together and conflicting emotions were flickering across his face, Rossi deflated. Derek wasn't sure what his reaction was, but on seeing Garcia's, snapped his jaw shut as a reflex. Before they could even fully digest, Prentiss moved to stand by their departing boss, turning to face them.

"I'm afraid it's mine too." Now Derek reacted, shaking his head. This could not be happening. He had worried this would happen as soon as the possibility of JJ dying had entered the frame, but they were supposed to be stronger than this, they were supposed to be a team, damn it. Garcia was crying again and Derek felt real anger at the two who were leaving them.

"I'm still going to be working here in Quantico, at least for the time being, but I'm looking for more reasonable hours. I've decided to do something with me life. Specifically, I'm going to be adopting Declan. I think it's time to reprioritise my life," Prentiss looked nervous, "I'm really happy with this decision and I hope you'll choose to be happy for me." Derek felt a little stung. He knew that realistically they were not a family, but somehow they had always felt enough to him, to hear that they weren't hurt. He didn't begrudge her this happiness, though. He knew she was going to be a great mom. The attention shifted back to Hotch.

"Strauss has made it clear that her offer of early retirement still stands. It seems there's only so many times they want to pay for my medical bills," Hotch smiled slightly, the first they had seen since JJ died, "I've decided I'm going to take it. I want to spend more time with Jack – he deserves to have his Dad around and I want to be there for him," Hotch looked down and Derek saw him loosen his grip on the back of his seat, "I want to see my son grow up." There was no uncertainty in his voice. Derek couldn't help but read that the subtext was that he couldn't face losing anyone else, still couldn't face that he had lost JJ – if she had been here, not a chance that he'd have taken that offer.

"I've spoken to Strauss and she agrees that Morgan will be a fine candidate to take over from me when I leave. I hope you'll take up the job." Derek could only nod numbly and shake his offered hand. He wasn't sure about this, everything was moving so fast and nothing was ever going to be the same again. What was happening to his team?

Garcia wrapped her departing friend up in her arms, while Prentiss smoothed down her hair and whispered promises of lunches and weekend shopping trips. The men shook hands with Hotchner, and clapped Derek on the back, even as they remembered that they had this one case left. And then they were on their way to Winchester.

**AN: So, apparently I'm a big fat liar! This is actually the first part of the penultimate chapter, but the whole thing got so monstrous so I split it into two - sorry for those who were counting down the chapters! So now there will be two more after this and then a happy chapter if I can figure out how to do it. I can't tell whether to go for subtle and understated (like I hope most of this story has been) or for full out happiness and bunnies... what do you think?**


	14. Cheers

It wasn't even ten hours later that Emily found herself dozing in the back seat of the SUV, beside Rossi. Derek had been right. It had been an easy case – as easy as one of their cases could be, anyhow. Within hours of getting there, the killer made a mistake, panicked and didn't quite finish his last victim off – she died an hour later in the ER, but not until positively ID-ing the suspect's photo. He was a high school senior, in love with his sister and taking out his rage on other bright young things. Emily was almost disappointed, such an easy case felt almost like a let-down: after all of her dramatic cases at the BAU, this is what it came down to? Her seat thumped and she snapped out of her doze.

"So help me God, Reid if you kick my seat one more damn time, I swear I'll…" Emily ranted at Reid who was in the very back of the car. She trailed off as she realised that no one was stopping her, telling her and Reid to knock it off, the both of them. She'd never gotten that far in ranting at him before. The look on Reid's face told her that he had made the same connection and she knew that sadness was written all over her face. She turned back to watch the traffic. Rossi looked as though he were miles away, probably structuring the new book she knew he wanted to write. She bet she knew who it'd be dedicated to. Morgan hadn't noticed anything, his headphones ever present. Hotch was completely rigid but Emily couldn't tell if that was new or not. It was safe to say that the no inter-team profiling rule and been flagrantly disregarded the last couple of weeks.

They were about ten minutes away from Quantico and Emily was already dreaming of the bubble bath she was going to take when she got home, figured that she could finish writing up her reports and tying up loose ends tomorrow and Friday. She had some adoption forms to fill out too. She couldn't quite believe that she had started the process of getting Declan back into her life. On the one hand, she was utterly terrified, afraid of fucking up another life.

They were nearly in sight of the office when Garcia's voice crackled over the hands-free.

"Hello, babies! I wanted to let you know that I've made a late reservation at Morelli's," Garcia sounded too chipper, Rossi winced and Morgan heard her even through the headphones, Emily guessed, as he turned his music off, "And before I hear any complaints: this _is_ happening. Rossi, I've cancelled your drinks with your editor and Hotch, before you say anything, I've spoken to Jessica and she's going to keep Jack over tonight."

Emily couldn't supress a groan, dreams of a bath gone. She knew there was no sneaking her way out of this one now. It wasn't that she didn't want some kind of send-off, but she still didn't feel in a mood to celebrate or reminisce. Nashville was still too near. It didn't look as though anyone else was thrilled about the prospect either.

Hotch adjusted their course for the restaurant.

Everyone went back to their own little worlds for the next ten minutes and Emily realised how odd it was, having everyone in one SUV. It seemed that one less team member made all the difference.

Dinner had been better than he had expected, Hotch thought. Once they had sat down at the charming Italian and the owner had poured out a couple of bottles of wine, everyone began to relax a little. Prentiss was talking to Reid, their earlier little spat seemed to have been forgotten. He caught snippets of the conversation but could make out neither head nor tail of it, he would hazard a guess that they were talking about comic books. Morgan and Garcia were chatting about idle nothings and Rossi was talking animatedly to the owner – this was the only Italian joint in town that he approved of. Straight ahead of Hotch, between Reid and Morgan, was an empty chair: the wine glass untouched and the cutlery still laid out. The team came here fairly regularly; he assumed that when the owner had taken a reservation from Garcia that they had automatically set the table for their usual number. No one mentioned it, or asked for the place to be cleared, but Aaron couldn't stop looking at it.

Aaron was almost certainly in denial, he realised. He half expected that JJ would sweep in here any moment, flustered and apologising for being late, probably armed with an excuse involving Henry. What Aaron was not in denial about, though, was that her death was instrumental in his decision to leave. Honestly, he should probably have left when Strauss first gave him the choice years ago. But he had stayed. He had loved the work, loved his team. And now? It wasn't that he loved them less, in fact it was breaking his heart a little to leave them. There was just a little less of them to love and he couldn't love a job which had taken her from them, from him. He couldn't face standing around, wondering who would be the next to fall.

Rossi was done talking to the restaurateur and turned his attention to Aaron instead, telling him something to do with the wine, but he was only half listening. Aaron worried about the team dynamic, now that JJ was gone – he didn't know what his and Prentiss' leaving was going to do to it either, but he hoped it would be good, that it would get new blood into the unit. It was only when the food came that the conversations started to open up to all of them. They talked about Prentiss' plans for Declan and buying a new place – Hotch was pushing for her to get somewhere with a yard and Reid was detailing statistics about the correlation between a child's happiness and confidence with whether or not they had a childhood pet. He was pretty convincing – Hotch had pretty much decided to get a dog by the end of the spiel.

Everyone was in a good mood, laughing again. Hotch could hardly believe it was happening. It wasn't quite the same as it used to be, but maybe there was hope of happiness for all of them yet. He reflected on his decision to leave. It was one that left a bitter taste in his mouth, after all of his years fighting to stay where he was, all the good he had done, but he knew, ultimately, it was the right one. He also knew that he had made a promise to JJ: that he was going to look after the team, keep them together. He refused to fail in that task but he was going to have to be a little more creative in keeping it. Aaron was reticent to bring JJ up now that everyone seemed to be cheering up, but they were four bottles in, now, if he left it much longer, he knew that they might get too emotional or not remember this conversation at all. He cleared his throat and drew their attention.

"I want to start by saying that working with you all has been one of the greatest privileges of my life. I'm going to be sorry not to see you all every day," Garcia and Prentiss were smiling at him tenderly and he had to rush to get the words he needed to say out, "However, I made a promise to JJ," tenderness turned once more to sadness and concern, "I promised her that I was going to keep an eye on you all, that I was going to look after you. I intend to keep that promise. So I propose that, come hell or high water, we meet up at least once a month. It can just be a round of coffee or drinks after a case or you are all welcome to join Jack and me for dinner, but I want everyone to help me keep this promise."

Prentiss and Garcia were the first to reply, murmuring "of course". Morgan and Rossi just nodded, looking deep in thought. Reid was the only one not to respond immediately. His long fingers traced the patterns on the oilcloth.

"I'll do it, but not for you." He stated sharply, before he pushed his chair back and headed for the men's room. He left a sea of gaping faces behind him. Garcia and Morgan came to his defence after a beat or two, but Hotch waved them off – "You don't need to make his excuses for him." – before he followed.

Aaron's long stride caught him up with Reid in the short hallway outside of the bathrooms and he laid a solid hand on the younger man's shoulder, halfway between restraint and comfort. Aaron was so bewildered that he wasn't entirely certain what his demeanour should be.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?" He asked, in his 'firm but understanding' tone, as JJ would have described it. He felt a stab as he thought of her.

Aaron was surprised at the rage he saw on Spencer's face as he turned back towards him, violently shrugging off the hand. Not as surprised as he was when Reid actually tried to hit him – a closed fist but a weak swing. Instincts kicked in and Hotch had the young doctor pinned up against the wall before either could fully register what had just happened. Reid was still thrashing like some kind of wild creature when he lost the last of his composure, sobbing openly.

"It's okay." Hotch loosened his grip to fold him up in a fierce hug – if it could be called as such. It took a minute for the sobs to subside to soft hiccups of grief, his head falling on his mentor's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I didn't get to say goodbye." Reid's plaintive voice nearly broke Aaron's heart, and he had never felt as paternal towards Reid as he did at this moment.

"I know. I know and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Emily and Penelope were over at the bar trying to persuade the barman to hand over the bottle of Limoncello. Derek and Rossi sat together, finishing the last of their red wine and chatting idly. Dave could tell that Morgan's heart wasn't really in the conversation: when he wasn't scanning the room for Hotch or Reid he seemed to be staring at some point, miles away.

"What's on your mind?"

"Hmm?" The direct question caught Derek off guard, and it wasn't until the question was repeated that he managed to verbalise the jumble of his thoughts, "This is it, isn't it?"

"This is what?" Rossi's brow was creased with confusion.

"The end of the line, the breaking point. It's like Jenga – there's always one or two pieces that you can't mess with. You do, the entire thing falls to pieces. JJ was that piece and now we're all falling apart."

"Maybe you're right," Rossi chose his words carefully, as Derek thumbed the edge of his wine glass, nearly despondent, "but is that such a terrible thing?" Derek's head shot up and Rossi had to hold a hand up to pause him, "Change is natural, needed even. You heard Aaron, even if we aren't all working together; we're in each other's lives for good now. You know that. And who knows, maybe this is a chance for new things to grow." Derek followed Rossi's gaze back to the bar. He caught Emily's eye there, bright eyes shining for the first time in weeks as she laughed over the rim of a shot glass. She smiled at him before lowering her gaze bashfully, and his heart skipped a beat. The first time in years. Derek put down the wine glass.

"Maybe."

Half an hour later, things were winding down. Jackets were being pulled on, scarves wrapped tightly (or tied tightly on by Garcia, in Reid's case) and smiles and dates exchanged. Now it was time to say goodbye. Emily did a circuit, all fluttery kisses and broad smiles. She would see them all around the building, she promised a thousand times.

Hotch held his hand out for Derek to take, but he simply huffed: "C'mon, man" before he pulled the older man into an embrace, laughing at how rigid Hotch felt before he relaxed and returned the hug, giving his successor a pat on the back before disengaging himself.

He turned to Garcia and smiled at her as she threw her arms wide open for a hug. Derek wondered if Hotch would ever forgive him for starting a precedent of hugging. It took longer for Hotch to extricate himself from this one, and he didn't manage to escape without traces of hot pink lipstick on his cheek. Garcia was crying again, though the tears didn't seem so bitter. She was making Hotch promise that he would keep in touch and bring Jack round to see them every once in a while.

Rossi just cocked an eyebrow at his former mentee and held his hand out and Hotch shook it gladly. Lastly there was only Reid, at the end of this twisted version of a receiving line.

"I'm sorry, for earlier," Reid said in his smallest voice, looking more like a gawky teenager in front of his father than ever, "I wish you weren't going."

This time it was Hotch who took the initiative and wrapped his arms and let the boy hang on as long as he needed. When Reid finally pulled away, brushing his hand over his eyes, Hotch gripped his shoulder, turning round to view his team one last time – Derek could have sworn that their inimitable leader looked a little misty eyed.

"How about one more shot, for the road?" Derek proffered, feeling that they might all need the extra minute for closure, even as he signalled for the waitress. No one protested as she poured out the Limoncello that Rossi preferred. Derek raised his glass, prompting everyone to join him.

"To Prentiss, for being a champ. To Hotch, you're gonna be a tough act to follow, and we're gonna miss you very much, the both of you. And to JJ, who we'll never forget, and always love."

Their yellow drinks clinked together in the dim restaurant, and they thought of sunny days to come and of blonde hair that they would not see again.

"To JJ."

**AN: Again, I suck! But, in other news: exams/etc are all over and I have finished my degree - yay, me. One final chapter before we're all done, happy-rainbow alternate ending aside. This was monstrously long, but I couldn't face breaking it up! Hope some of you are still out there.**


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